Chapter 3

Adeline Combs POV:

Broken things can't be fixed. Not with money, not with empty promises. I knew that now.

I turned to walk away, to go anywhere that wasn't here, but Gisele's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Wait," she said, her tears miraculously gone. "Emerson, darling, why don't we all go shopping? You promised to redecorate my studio. We can pick up something for Adeline then. As a... peace offering." The words were an insult wrapped in silk.

Emerson, ever attentive to her whims, immediately agreed. "That's a great idea. Adeline, you should come with us. Get some fresh air."

"No," I said, my feet already moving towards the door. "I have something I need to do."

Today was the day. The day I had my appointment.

"Don't be difficult, Adeline," Emerson said, his voice taking on a hard edge. He strode over and took my arm, his grip firm. It wasn't a request. "You're pregnant. I don't want you going out alone."

My plans. My escape. It was all about to unravel. To avoid suspicion, to make sure I could get away for good in a few weeks, I had no choice.

"Fine," I bit out, the word tasting like ash.

I watched him lift Gisele into the front seat of his Bentley, his movements full of a tenderness he hadn't shown me in weeks. I slid into the back, an unwanted passenger in my own life. The entire drive, they reminisced about their childhood, their inside jokes and shared memories forming an impenetrable wall around them, leaving me in the cold silence of the backseat. I was an accessory, a thing he was obligated to transport.

"So, where is this important thing you had to do?" Emerson asked suddenly, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

My fingers turned white as I gripped my purse. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Just... a bookstore on the east side."

Before he could question me further, Gisele interrupted, her voice a high-pitched, excited squeal. "Oh, Emerson, look! It's that boutique we love! They're having a one-day sale. We have to go now, or we'll miss everything!"

Emerson hesitated, glancing from me to her. "But Adeline needs to..."

"It's just a few blocks from here," he said, turning back to me, his decision already made. "You don't mind walking, do you? We'll meet you back at the car in an hour."

The breath I' d been holding rushed out of me in a wave of relief, so sharp it was almost painful. It was followed by a bitter, self-mocking laugh that died in my throat. He didn't even care. He didn't care where I was going, what I was doing. All that mattered was keeping Gisele happy.

"I don't mind," I said, my voice flat.

I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the curb without a backward glance.

The procedure was quick, clinical, and impersonal. I left the clinic feeling hollowed out, a ghost walking through a world that had suddenly lost all its color. As I stepped back out into the gray afternoon, my phone rang. It was him.

"Hey," he said, his voice laced with that infuriatingly gentle tone he used when he was pretending to care. "Where are you? Are you done with your shopping?"

A lump formed in my throat. I remembered a time when that voice would have been my anchor, my home. A time when he would have moved mountains if I so much as sneezed, let alone went out alone while carrying his child.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I'm done. I'm on my way back to the car."

"Good. Gisele and I are going to celebrate her recovery tonight at Le Ciel," he said, naming the most exclusive restaurant in the city. "I'll have the driver pick you up. Be ready by seven."

It wasn't an invitation. It was a summons. I knew his possessive nature; if I refused, he would become suspicious. Leaving for good required me to play this part a little longer.

"I'll be there," I said, and hung up.

When I entered the private dining room at Le Ciel, they were already there. Emerson was leaning over Gisele's wheelchair, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, a silvery, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. His hand rested on her shoulder, his thumb stroking her collarbone. He froze when he saw me, snatching his hand back as if he'd been burned.

Gisele just smiled, a cat-like expression of pure satisfaction. "Oh, good, you're here. We were afraid there wasn't enough food."

Emerson gestured for the waiter. "Adeline, order whatever you like."

I shook my head, my appetite gone.

He didn't press. Instead, he rattled off a list of dishes to the waiter-coq au vin, lobster thermidor, truffle risotto. Every single one was Gisele's favorite.

"Oh, Emerson, you remembered!" she gushed, clapping her hands like a child. "You're the best."

He had never once remembered that I was allergic to shellfish. He had never once remembered that I preferred simple pasta to rich, complicated French cuisine. He had never remembered me at all. He had only ever seen her.

He was so busy helping Gisele cut her food, so engrossed in her every word, that he seemed to forget I was even there.

"Emerson," Gisele said sweetly, nudging him. "You're ignoring our guest. Adeline hasn't eaten a thing."

He looked up, as if surprised to see me. He distractedly took a large piece of lobster from his own plate and placed it in my bowl. "Here. Eat."

I stared at the pink-and-white flesh of the lobster, a food that would cover me in hives and make it hard to breathe. He knew. I had told him a hundred times. We'd even had a scare on our honeymoon when a dish was cross-contaminated. He had held me, terrified, as I gasped for air. He had sworn he would never, ever forget.

He had forgotten.

I quietly pushed the lobster to the side of my bowl.

"What's wrong?" Gisele asked, her voice laced with faux concern. "Don't you like it? Emerson picked it out just for you."

Emerson frowned at me. "Adeline, don't be petulant. Gisele is trying to be nice. The least you can do is show some grace."

I looked at him, my heart a dead, cold thing in my chest. "I'm allergic," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. A flicker of shock, then embarrassment, crossed his face. "Oh. Right. I..."

Gisele seized the moment. "Allergic? Adeline, you have to be more careful! What about the baby? You can't be so selfish as to risk your health right now!"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I didn't wait for Emerson's apology, for his weak excuses. I picked up my fork, deliberately speared the piece of lobster, and brought it to my mouth. I chewed slowly, mechanically, and swallowed.

The food tasted like poison.

Back home, I immediately went to the bathroom and took two antihistamine pills, my hands shaking. I leaned against the cool tile, waiting for the itching to start, for the tightness in my chest.

A few minutes later, Emerson carried Gisele through the front door, her arms wrapped around his neck. He stopped short when he saw me standing in the hallway, my face pale.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice stiff.

I didn't answer. I started to walk towards our bedroom, needing to escape the sight of them.

As I passed, I heard Gisele whisper playfully in his ear, "My hero. You have to carry me all the way to my room."

And Emerson replied, in a voice so tender, so full of adoration it made my stomach churn, "Anything for you, my queen."

It was a voice I had never heard before.

I shut the bedroom door behind me, the sound a dull thud in the silent house. I slid down to the floor, my back against the wood, and listened to his soft footsteps fade down the hall, to the murmur of his voice as he soothed her.

The first red, angry welt appeared on my neck, hot and itchy. I closed my eyes, took a ragged breath, and tried to ignore the fire spreading across my skin.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would have gotten rid of the baby. Tomorrow I would have been one step closer to freedom.

But that was a lie. Because the baby was already gone, ripped from me in the most brutal way imaginable, a secret I was forced to carry alone. This child, this lie, should never have been conceived in a family built on deceit.